Preparing for a late snack
Here I am, before a planned table, with my recalcitrant oven ticking in the background. Will it or will it not? Our stove is a decade old; a lifetime in this microprocessor world, and for the rest of the family the oven has become a symbol of frustrated intentions. “Door” means so much more, when you are hungry.
Methinks that before the weekend is over, we’ll have added to our list of bills not yet paid, with a change of range.
It’s still early on the Eve, given the tradition of a late meal locally. Nothing before midnight, even if I’ve been nibbling around the edges. No particular plan; the servings will be small, frequent and hodge-podge. All the kids should be here. That is rare! And after all is said and done, I’ll have a few hours sleep before stuffing the big bird into that same oven. No plan B, either…
I was out to the shops before noon, in what resembles roller derby. So many people who need to purchase the kinds of foods that are served at no other time of the year. Meat pies. Frozen brownies. Paté. Cheeses in triangles and ovals; the kinds that require knives and patience. There’s even some bottles of sparkling water, for the discerning palate. Think of Eno before the upset stomach.
Don’t forget the music. Where can we find some carols that don’t grate. I brought up RTE earlier, but there was little conviction. Time zone tango. If I were to tune it in again (the Internet is so easy), I’d be interrupting the mood of post-mass at Christmas.
